


The Detective and the Women

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Grandbabies Wanted, Mother-Son Relationship, Mummy knows best, Plotting, must i do everything myself?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexandra Holmes is a woman who gets what she wants. </p><p>And what she wants is grandbabies, pronto. (Well, also her children's happiness and world peace. But mainly, grandbabies.)</p><p>So when she realises that her youngest is dawdling when there's procreation to be getting on with- and he with a doctor in his sights, no less!- she decides to do something about it... </p><p>With a little help, of course from her friends...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Render Unto Caesar...

_Disclaimer:_ This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. This is part one of two.

* * *

**~ RENDER UNTO CAESAR WHAT IS CAESAR'S ~**

* * *

The first time Alexandra Holmes sees Molly Hooper, she's sitting off to the side of Baker Street's living room, on her own. She's wearing a gaudy, ugly cardigan, filthy trainers and the most love-struck facial expression Alexandra has ever seen.

She's also trying to pretend that she's not staring at Alexandra's bloodied, battered youngest son, who is not wearing a shirt at the moment.

She is not, Alexandra is sad to report, doing all that well in that endeavour.

But then, given the rough time Hooper obviously had tonight- not to mention the worry this "Fauxriarty," case has put her through- Alexandra is not terribly surprised by that.

She is also rather aware that women tend to stare at her youngest, when he hasn't a shirt on.

Said younger son- one William Scott Sherlock Holmes- doesn't seem to notice the young woman's adoration though. He is, well, the polite term would be "covering himself in glory," by tormenting his elder brother. (The impolite term would be, "acting like an utter git.") He and Mikey were both injured by that Moriarty oaf, you see, and they're trying to work out which one of them was foisted with the most stupid injury- Mycroft managed a concussion whilst Will got himself a nasty new set of lacerations across his torso, legs _and_ shoulders, which his friend John Watson is currently treating-

Due to his having been knocked unconscious, Mycroft is currently in the lead, though the sheer length of time it took Sherlock to find Moriarty is being used by his brother as proof of ineptitude.

Sherlock is, needless to say, hotly disputing this.

He's doing it so vociferously that Watson keeps smacking him on the back of his head and telling him to hold still while he stitches him up.

Despite herself and her best intentions, Alexandra smiles at her boys as they squabble: She does so like to watch them play against one another.

_She knows it's part of how they deal with nearly dying so regularly._

And they're in fine form right now, she thinks, despite their injuries. They're trying to burn through the jittery, restless energy at the end of a case so that they can, finally, rest. Will's friend John Watson is rolling his eyes at their antics while Watson's wife, Mary, openly sniggers at them, occasionally handing her husband another piece of sterilised gauze.

Every so often Watson interject something sarcastic into proceedings, a happenstance which prompts laughter from Will and snide condescension from Mikey-

"Well, of course _you_ would find that funny, Doctor Watson," the latter sneers when John has inquired why the sheer size of Mycroft's cranium did not protect him from being concussed. "Both you and our dear morgue mouse, Miss Hooper-" Mycroft directs a snide, sidelong glance at Molly- "are simpering, long-term members of my brother's fan club, which I'm sure is why you're both staring at him and nearly salivating-"

Molly's eyes widen at the condescending tone, even as John protests he's never been a member of Sherlock's fan club, salivating or otherwise, nor will he ever be.

He then manfully ignores his wife and his best friend, both of whom are claiming he is its founder.

Molly though, she doesn't look amused, Alexandra thinks. On the contrary, the young woman's posture stoops, her shoulders curling ever more in on herself. As John speaks, her eyes flit between he and Mycroft and thence to Will, her cheeks turning red.

She looks the very definition of mortified, and mortified that she is mortified.

Perhaps to defend herself she stammers that Mycroft shouldn't call her that, that he should in fact refer to her by her title given that she is, after all, a doctor-

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mycroft says airily, "do you have something to say, Miss Hooper?" His smile widens. "Or should I call you Sherlock's Number One Fan?"

Molly's cheeks get redder and she opens her mouth to defend herself-

"You know damn well she told you to call her a doctor," Will's voice says bluntly before she can. His tone is irritated. "Now apologise to Molly, Mikey, she's had a bad night and you're being beastly for no good reason."

He gestures to Watson.

"You may, of course, continue abusing John- He deserves it."

And with this the younger Holmes throws Doctor Hooper a small, tight nod, even as she blushes further and stammers out a thank you. She looks down at her feet, still smiling shyly, her hands wrapping more tightly around her mug of tea. For this reason she doesn't see- and perhaps wouldn't recognise- the millisecond longer than usual that Sherlock's eyes stay on her. Nor does she notice the slight gentleness which moves through his expression before he turns back to his brother and their usual, childish games-

Molly Hooper doesn't notice it, but Alexandra Holmes certainly does.

It speaks as loudly to her as a declaration of love would from anyone else and suddenly, despite herself, she has to fight the urge to grin.

 _So,_ she thinks. _Grandchildren may not be off the menu after all._

 _Fancy_ _**that.** _

Her eyes meet those of Mary Watson and the latter inclines her head ever so slightly, indicating that she's seen it too. That she knows what's going on.

There's mischief in her gaze and Alexandra's expression matches it.

As their boys bicker Alexandra rises, moves into the kitchen on the pretext of refilling her tea. Mary wanders gamely after her.

"Mary," she says to the younger woman.

"Alexandra," Mary rejoins, her eyes dancing.

_Alexandra really is rather fond of John's wife at the moment._

"I do believe you and I shall have to meet for lunch," she tells her and Mrs. Watson laughs.

* * *

_Jus In Bello_

* * *

It's surprisingly obvious, once Mary explains all to her.

In fact, were he not in the habit of keeping her out of his life in London, Alexandra fancies that she'd have guessed her youngest son's feelings for Doctor Hooper well before now.

For she knows her boys well, and she knows that Will, whatever his faults, would not keep a woman around for seven years without being at least a tiny bit fond of her-

And then, of course, there are the other things Mary describes. The things he doesn't like to talk about. The things he doesn't know Mary's seen. His jealousy about Molly's engagement; His embarrassment (and abominable behaviour) during his last drugs lapse. And then there's the fact that Molly Hooper is the only person besides John whom Sherlock has ever truly apologised to-

"I mean, it's obvious, don't you think?" Mary says as she sips her hot chocolate in Fortnum's. She and Alexandra are using a shopping trip as cover for their strategy meeting. "I've suspected ever since I first saw them together, but after she slapped him in St. Bart's, I knew."

Alexandra blinks. "She slapped my son?"

 _As a woman with the motherly instincts of a grizzly bear, she's not sure how she feels about that_.

Mary nods though, not even trying to back-pedal.

"She did, and he deserved it. He was acting like a git." She takes another sip of her hot chocolate, chases a melting marshmallow across its surface with her spoon as she speaks. "She's also the only person he asked to see when we thought he was being exiled," she continues. "Well, the only person besides me and John."

Alexandra's eyebrows raise. She hadn't known that- _Mikey must be holding out on her, the imp._

"And did she get to see him?" she asks.

Mary shakes her head, sadness flitting through her expression for just a moment before she visibly waves it away.

"Mycroft said she hadn't the security clearance," she explains finally. "Though I rather suspect it was something else-"

Alexandra nods. She knows without being told what the other woman means.

"I have no idea where he picked up this ridiculous cynicism when it comes to emotion," she says. "I assure you, it wasn't from his father or I- We were always very affectionate at home. Couldn't be getting on with any of that stiffer upper lip nonsense when I had such a gorgeous man in my bed!" She sighs. "Unfortunately however, Mycroft seems to have developed something of a phobia about love and he's passed it on to William-"

Mary smiles. "Yeah, well, that's why we're here, isn't it?" she says. "To help Sherlock get his head out of his arse and into Molly's… good graces."

Alexandra cocks an eyebrow at her. "That's not what you were going to say, is it?"

Mary's smile is beatific. "I've no idea what you mean."

The older woman laughs. "Well, I suppose I _am_ his mother- I don't need to know everything this plan leads to." She grimaces. "It's not my business what goes into the making of my grand children- I've done enough, providing some of the… manufacturing component."

Mary snickers and she leans forward, lowers her voice.

"So- We're agreed? They suit?"

Mary nods. "Yes, to both. They suit and we know it. The only question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Alexandra's smile is practically incendiary.

"Why, we're going to do the obvious," she says. "We're going to set the ball rolling."

And with that she takes out her mobile, her grin widening as she pulls up a number and hits "call." Within three rings the call's recipient picks up, his tone harassed-

"Mummy?" Mycroft snaps. "What the devil is the matter?"

Alexandra's tone is innocence itself. "Mikey, darling," she says, "I was wondering whether you noticed that darling little thing who was at Baker Street on Monday?

I rather thought she'd do for you…"

The screech of indignation which this prompts from her eldest makes Alexandra smile as she and Mary trade a satisfied thumbs up.


	2. The Dose Makes The Poison

_Disclaimer:_ This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Turns out this isn't the last chapter, there's one more to go. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to MizJoely, Icecat62, miss_whiddlesmort, MerriWyllow, OhAine, oOkatiekinsOo, kathmak898, devilgrrl and redtartart- Enjoy!

* * *

 _~ The Dose Makes The Poison_ ~

* * *

 

It takes three whole days for William to reach crisis point.

Three whole days of silence and sulking and not answering his phone.

(By way of comparison, it takes his brother Mikey a mere three minutes from picking up his mother's phone-call to hanging up on her to reach crisis, but then Alexandra's youngest has always been a little slower on the uptake than his brother.

He is, however, more than his equal in the drama queen stakes.)

Frankly though, Will _is_ being slow about this, Alexandra thinks irritably as she paces towards Baker Street to see her errant offspring. _Really, for such a clever man he_ _'_ _s being rather a clot_. Because while she had known getting her darling Sherlock's backside in gear would take time, she hadn't imagined it would take _this much_ time-

No, Alexandra had assumed that The Plan would have come to fruition within a couple of hours of her calling Mikey.

She has no doubt that as soon as he had hung up on her Mikey had called Will and started whinging. A lot. Said whinging being enough to either convince William that he really was interested in Dr. Hooper and trying to hide it, or enough to prompt Will's (admittedly dormant) chivalrous tendencies in defending the marriagability of his friend. From there Alexandra had assumed it would be a mere hop, skip and a shag into matrimonial bliss and her desperately-desired, entirely well-earned, doubtless delightfully clever grandbabies-

Alas, however, as Anthea glumly informed her this morning, no such movement has been forthcoming, despite the young spy casually letting slip that Molly Hooper's protection level had been upped to as high as Alexandra's own, a measure kept for those nearest and dearest Mycroft.

Martha Hudson's likewise helpful text, to the affect that Sherlock should be happy his friend Molly might soon be his sister-in-law, had elicited no response either, other than Sherlock shooting the wall. Repeatedly.

(Martha has informed Alexandra that she will be forwarding her the bill for damages already, which is, admittedly, only fair.)

Even Janine Turner's text to Will, hinting that his mother had been in touch and wanted him to start thinking about settling down, now that she felt she had his elder brother sorted, hadn't had the desired outcome-

At this thought Alexandra scowls and threads her way through the morning crowds outside Baker Street tube station. _If things kept going like this she_ _'_ _d have to enlist Irene bloody Adler_ _'_ _s help_. Her security detail- always discrete but usually nearby- respond to her expression by cutting her a wide berth.

With a harrumph she turns onto Gower Street, heading from there towards her son's flat, facial expression still somewhat thunderous. She rings the bell, tries to compose herself as she hears Martha Hudson shuffling towards the front door. When the other woman opens it she smiles tightly, pulling her old friend into a stiff embrace and kissing her cheek before throwing her a questioning look.

"Any movement?" she asks, voice lowered. Martha shakes her head.

"Afraid not," she answers, "I even tried asking whether he'd heard from his brother and I got yelled at for my trouble…" She shakes her head again. "He's in a terrible mood, he is- I couldn't even bring him in his tea this morning."

Alexandra winces. "Considering their behaviour, one might well assume that my children were raised by a pack of wolves rather than myself and their father," she sniffs.

Martha, she can't help but notice, doesn't argue; she merely smiles and opens the door wider, allowing her to move into the hall.

"His father and I endeavoured to turn him into a gentleman," Alexandra continues as she enters, "you may depend on it-"

Hudson snorts. "That boy was no more going to turn into a gentleman than his mother was going to be a prim and proper lady," she points out, and despite the situation, Alexandra smiles at her.

_They have, after all, known one another since girlhood._

"You really have known the family too long, having you darling?" she says and the other woman's smile widens. Becomes warmer.

"You can never know the Holmeses for too long- the parents _or_ the children," she says, taking Alexandra's coat.

She gestures to the stairs, her smile somewhat dimming.

"Now go up there and give him what for- He's been torturing his violin all day, I don't know how Mary puts up with it."

Alexandra stops. Turns and frowns. "Mary's here?"

Martha nods and the other woman's eyes narrow in appreciation: So she's not the only person who wants Sherlock to get a move on.

_Good. Operations always go better with an inside man._

"She's been up there an hour," Martha says, a flash of realisation sparking in her eyes as she takes in Alexandra's reaction. Obviously she has surmised what is happening. ""Not having much luck on her own but maybe it's time for reinforcements?"

"Maybe," Alexandra says. "Probably." She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. "Cover me, darling, I'm going in old girl..."

And with that she starts moving up the stairs, wincing as the voices coming from her son's flat get louder with each footstep. Martha's right- Will _is_ torturing his violin- and he's clearly using it to force Mary Watson to raise her voice. Bt the time Alexandra's gotten to his front door it's clear that Mary's yelling, her voice going hoarse as she tries to call over the music-

"You're being a pillock," she's saying. "I know you think you're being clever but you're really, really not-"

Will's derisive snort is clearly audible, even through the flat's door. "I know you've bagged yourself a hubbie and you think the rest of us should just fall in line," he's saying condescendingly, "but I'm afraid I don't work like that, dear-"

It's probably the "dear," that does it: There's a sound of a heavy thump and suddenly the violin music stops. As Alexandra pushes the door open she hears another thud; this time it's the sound of Sherlock's violin being dropped to the floor. She walks inside to the not unamusing sight of her youngest son being chased around his parlour by one of his best friends, his violin bow held high above her head and being waved about as if it were some sort of weapon-

"William Scott Sherlock Holmes," Alexandra bellows, "you will stop this behaviour this instant!"

* * *

_~ Veni, Vidi, Vici ~_

* * *

 

He comes to a skittering halt, a look of boyish betrayal on his face.

"But Mummy!" he snaps. "Mary's the one who's threatening _me_."

Using her best Mummy Does Not Approve face Alexandra stalks into the flat, looking over at Mary before holding her hand out in demand.

The younger woman wordlessly places the bow on her palm.

"You," Alexandra tells her, "will sit down and stop threatening my son."

Much to her surprise, Mary does exactly as she's told, slouching over to the chair her husband favours and plopping down on it.

She shoots Will an evil look and sticks out her tongue, a gesture he returns in spades.

Alexandra sighs gustily. _Just like old times_ , she thinks.

For his trouble she walks briskly up behind him and clips him sharply around the ear. He shoots her another boyishly betrayed look and pouts, crossing his arms mutinously over his chest as he mumbles about how, "Mary started it…"

"It doesn't matter who started it," Alexandra intones, a phrase she has repeated to Will and Mikey so often she's surprised it's not tattooed inside their ear-drums. "Now apologise to Mary and we can get to the bottom of things."

For a moment Will shoots her a challenging look but at her cocked eyebrow he slouches back down in his chair and mutters that he's sorry.

"Mary," she continues, looking at the younger woman, "apologise to my son, please."

Watson doesn't look happy about it but she bobs her head and mutters sorry, her tone identical to Will's. She's poking the carpet with the toe of her left runner, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie.

"Good," Alexandra says. "Now you can explain to me how you two ended up fighting-"

And both of them spring out of their respective chairs like a couple of jack-in-the-boxes, each loudly protesting that the other was entirely at fault. _Will was being a git apparently, Mary was being a girl._ After a few moments of their protests- _always best to let them get it out of their systems_ \- she holds up a hand for silence and much to her surprise both her charges quiet down immediately.

"So, basically Will, you're feeling a bit sensitive about the notion that your friend Molly might suit for your brother, yes?" she asks tartly.

For the sake of the current armistice, she pretends she didn't just hear Mary Watson snort.

Sherlock's expression turns mulish, about to disagree, but his mother's cocked eyebrow apparently prompts a re-evaluation.

"I just don't think she's right for Mikey, alright Mummy?" he mutters sourly.

Now it's his turn to poke his (bare) toe into the carpet.

Alexandra and Mary exchange glances but he doesn't look up and with a small sigh the older woman moves to sit beside him, placing her hand on his.

He pouts but doesn't remove it.

He also becomes very still.

"Will," she says softly, "what's this really about?"

And she smiles at him, the soft smile she only ever gives her children. The soft smile nobody else ever sees, in all her years working in GCHQ.

His mouth works and for a moment he's that little boy she remembers again, his emotions too big and mysterious and embarrassing to give voice to, but then-

"He'll be awful to her," he says, his voice so quiet both Alexandra and Mary have to lean in to hear it. "Mycroft- He'll be awful to Molly, he'll be all condescending and cold and horrible." He picks tightly at a thread in his pyjama bottoms, his tone harried. Tight.

"He'll call her names," he's saying, "and he'll make her dress like Anthea, and he'll never laugh at her jokes, he'll never even notice she makes them-"

"Go on," Mary says and for a moment Alexandra wants to admonish her; getting Will talking about these things is hard enough, interrupt and he'd often clam up entirely as a child. But rather than pulling away he looks up, meets his friend's gaze.

There's something in it, something almost steely. It's like he's daring the other woman to gainsay him in any way.

"I don't want that," he says, and this time it's the grown man speaking, not Alexandra's little boy. There's an certainty to his tone, a sureness to it, which rather reminds Alexandra of his father. "Molly should have someone who will treat her well," he's saying, "she should have someone who understands how extraordinary she is, and how lucky he is to have her-"

"Have you told her that?" Mary asks and he blinks at her, discombobulated.

"Why on earth would I tell her that, Mary?" he demands. "I'm trying to help her get over her little crush."

His lips twist on the last two words but Alexandra hears it. The crack of emotion in them. The twist of vulnerability it signifies. She must tread terribly carefully. "My darling boy," she says gently, "Whyever would you want her to get over you when you're clearly not over _her_?"

William opens his mouth to answer her, but for once no words come out.

It is in this silence that Mary and Alexandra explain to him what he should do.


	3. Amor Vincit Omnia

_Disclaimer:_ This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. This is the final part; thanks to all who have read. Thanks for their reviews also go to 

* * *

 _~ Amor Vincit Omnia_ ~

* * *

 

Alexandra has her driver pull right up to the front of Molly Hooper's flat and pops the car door beside her open.

With a none-too-gentle nudge she and Mary shove William from the car, Alexandra gesturing imperiously towards his destination and shooing him away.

"Remember, you _want_ to be here," Mary tells him, her tone gentle. Amused.

Her eyes are dancing but there's understanding in them too.

_After all, William looks rather like he wants to bolt and the last time he did that, he faked his death for two years: She is doubtless hoping to avoid a repeat performance._

Alexandra can honestly say she feels entirely in agreement.

But Mary's words seem to do the trick, for he squares his shoulders. Nods. Tries to move briskly towards the front door but at the last moment looks back, slightly panicked, to meet his mother's gaze. His hands drop to his sides and he shuffles from foot to foot uncertainly.

"Go," she mouths, smiling.

Still he freezes and after a moment she hauls herself out of the car, pulls him tightly into her embrace.

He endures it with minimal squirming, which is rather a surprise.

"You are brave," she whispers in his ear, "you are clever and you are loved- Here and everywhere else, it seems." She jerks her chin towards Hooper's flat. "Now go in there and let someone else tell you that, darling, and then you tell her the same."

And with that she lets him go, She hasn't spoken to him this way since he was rather young and they're both obviously uncomfortable with how emotional it's making them feel. _Whatever Alexandra's ease with affection, she knows her son finds it difficult as Hell._ Nevertheless Will nods, first to her and then to Mary before starting to walk resolutely towards Molly's front door.

His left hand are visibly shaking as he raises it to press the bell for Molly's flat.

"Remember, Sherlock, it's called the clitoris!" Mary yells out with sudden, (helpful) exuberance and when he shoots her a sarcastic look over his shoulder she grins beatifically.

She even shoots him a ridiculously cheerful thumbs up, the sight so ridiculous he can't help but laugh.

"Your mother wants grand-babies," she tells him. "I'm just doing my bit…"

"Go home and "do your bit," with John, woman," he tells her. "I'm rather busy here."

And with that the door buzzes and he steps inside, leaving Alexandra and Mary to muse in their car about what his chances are over the contents of the car's mini-bar.

* * *

_~ Semper Fidelis ~_

* * *

 

Sherlock enters Molly's flat like a whirlwind.

He marches straight through the door- barely pausing to let her open it- before heading into her neat little living room, his hands clasped behind his back, his face set and thunderous. When Molly opens her mouth to ask him what the devil's the matter he holds up one gloved hand for silence, his expression somehow worried. Harsh.

Immediately the young pathologist's nervousness spikes.

He must read the look on her face- she's no ability for guile, he's always teasing her over it- for he shakes his head and blurts out, "nothing's wrong and nobody is going to harm you but I have to say some things and if I stop I won't say them so can you please just stand there and let me say them and then this will all be over?"

Miraculously, he gets through all that in a single breath.

Molly is simultaneously impressed and even more alarmed.

"Alright," she says, taking a step back and leaning against the arm of her sofa. "Tell me what-"

"I'm going to ruin your life."

He says the words quickly, singsong, as if he can't bear to slow them down any. As soon as they're out some of the tension visibly leaves him though it feels almost like it's moved directly into his hostess.

Before she can report this though he folds his hands behind his back again, starts pacing. His coat flaps around him, as loud and dark as crow's wings.

"Sorry," he says after a moment, "but I had to get the important part out-"

"And the important part is that you're going to ruin my life?" Molly asks.

She is, to put it mildly, confused.

_It is not, alas, an unfamiliar sensation when in the company of Sherlock Holmes._

The detective nods staunchly though, ceasing his pacing for a moment to look right at her.

"Yes," he says more softly, "I'm going to ruin your life- And yes, that is the important part." He takes a step towards her, peers down into her eyes. His own are… soft? "But the other important parts are that I'm going to make it better too," he's saying, "and I'm going to try so hard to be the sort of person you're happy you've chosen. I'm going to wake up every day aware of how lucky I am to have you.

"And, I mean, I can't promise anything, I haven't had a lot of practice, but I want you to shag me silly and have my babies and if we can do that, then, well then I think we can do anything-"

 _Molly can't believe what she's hearing_.

"Hold on," she sputters. "Wait a second- You want me to what? And to have what?"

He looks at her in a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

"I want you have shag me silly and have my babies," he repeats, incredibly slowly, as if speaking to a dull child. "I want you to debauch me to your wicked heart's content and then furnish me with the fruits of our union- preferably pretty ones, though if they're ugly I'll put up with them because they're your and I know they'll be clever eventually, which is better than being pretty-" He pauses for breath. "Not that you aren't awfully pretty."

And his gaze drops down to rake over her body, kitten pyjamas and pokemon slippers and all.

She feels a rather mortifying wash of heat go through her at the sight.

"I want to have you in all sorts of ways," he's saying, "and all sorts of times, and I'm really hoping you feel adventurous because I do and I want to have adventures with you-"

"Adventures in shagging?" she asks dazedly.

Again the exasperated look. "Adventures in life, Molly."

He shakes his head. He's staring at her like a puppy who's been kicked.

"Don't you want that too?"

And suddenly his voice is unsure. Vulnerable.

He's having trouble meeting her eyes now.

For a couple of moments Molly stares at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish's, unable to process what he's saying. He's gazing at her with this beseeching, longing look on his face and she's not entirely sure why. Because he's talking about ruining her life and having babies and wanting to be with her and really, she doesn't know what he's on about-

She squeezes her eyes shut, pinches the bridge of her nose; She has to be certain.

She tries to keep her voice calm as she says the next.

"What are you asking me, Sherlock?" she says, and when he goes to blurt out another spiel of words she holds her hand up. Cuts him off.

"Short, concise sentences," she says. "Just the bare facts please."

For a moment she sees worry steal through his eyes and then he takes a deep breath. Squares his shoulders. He very purposefully takes a step towards her until he's towering over and then he leans down. Whispers in her ear.

"I want you," he says. "Do you want me?"

A beat.

"Please say that you still want me."

And then he reaches down, presses his forehead to hers. His breath his warm against her skin, his hands coming to rest lightly on her waist. For another moment Molly is silent as she processes his words and then…

Then…

Then she hurls herself at him and kisses him passionately. She kisses him wildly. She even, eventually, kisses him silly.

(The shagging him silly takes another couple of hours or so but it's not like they don't have the time.

Not after all the time they've lost, and not given how adventurous Molly is feeling).

* * *

 

_Meanwhile,_

_At Fortnum's_

"So," Mary says, sipping her gin lemonade. "Judging by the fact that neither of them are answering their phones, I think it's safe to say your youngest has bagged himself a doctor."

She raises her glass in toast. _She'll enjoy telling John he was right about this._ "Well done, Alexandra- I knew I could count on you.

"Now what about Mycroft, eh?" She smiles. "I have a friend called Sally I think might do for your eldest quite nicely…"

Alexandra Holmes' eyes dance with laughter.

"Why darling," she says, "I was wondering when you'd ask me that…"

And with that they order another pot of gin lemonade and set about making plans.


End file.
